‘There’s a new man rising up the ranks. He sees things differently. He’s going to make things happen.’
‘And what is this new man’s name?’
‘Horemheb,’ he said, with respect and even a touch of awe.
Then a faint call came from the next border post; the boys raised their hands in salute and yelled back. We left them there, with a brief farewell, and drove back towards the village.
‘Have you heard of this Horemheb?’ I asked Khety.
He shrugged. ‘The Great Changes have opened up many new routes to power for men from the non-elite families. I’ve heard his name; he married the sister of the Queen.’
This was new information. A new army man who had married ambitiously into the royal family.
‘So he will be attending the Festival?’
‘He would be obliged to.’
I thought about all this as we rattled our way over the broken stones.
‘And where is the Queen’s sister?’
‘No idea. They say she’s a bit strange.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I heard that once she cried for a year. And she rarely speaks.’
‘But he married her anyway.’
Khety shrugged again. It seemed to be his habitual response to the way of the world.
In contrast to the sophistication and enormous scope of the central city, the artisans’ accommodation was stark, functional and hurriedly constructed. There were several crude altars and little chapels built around the outside of the thick mud enclosure walls, among pig sties, stables and outhouses; domestic life carried on regardless in these chapels, with animals feeding in them and women cooking bread in ovens.
Khety and I entered through the gate. The houses seemed more or less identical: a small forecourt ran along the front of each dwelling, full of animals and storage jars, and beyond that was a higher, airy central room, with smaller rooms at the back. The architects of these repetitive shacks had failed to add stairs to the roof, so the occupants had built their own crazy zigzags using bits of old cast-off timber wherever they could find access. As in Thebes, the roofs were a vital part of the house. They were covered with trellises and vines, and fruits and vegetables were laid out in the sun to dry.
The houses ran in parallels, creating narrow lanes made narrower by piles of goods and materials and junk. Pigs, dogs, cats and children ran about under our feet, women yelled across at each other, a few sellers called their wares. Itinerants in stinking rags, cripples with rotten limbs and the hopelessly workless sat on their haunches in the shadows. We struggled to make our way between pack-mules and herds of men. The contrast with the classy green suburbs was overpowering, and I confess I felt at home for the first time in days. It was good to be back among the business, chaos and mess of normal life, and away from those highly considered and artificial precincts of power.
A few well-directed questions from Khety led us to the door of the Overseer. I knocked on the lintel and peered into the dark of the interior. A rough-looking giant, his tough face bristling with harsh stubble, glanced up from his table.
‘Can’t I even eat my lunch in peace? What the hell do you want?’
I stepped into the low, hot room and introduced myself. He grunted, and reluctantly invited me to sit down on the low bench.
‘Don’t stand watching while I’m eating. It’s rude.’
Khety remained outside the doorway.
I sat down and looked him over. He was a typical builder made good: paunch resting on a powerful frame, gold collar around a thick neck, big hands that had worked hard all their life, broken, blocky nails packed into strong, stubby fingers, adorned with more cheap gold, that tore into the bread with need not pleasure. He ate continuously, mechanically, using all five fingers, feeding himself like an animal. Behind him, a woman’s and a girl’s face peered from behind a curtain that separated the room from the kitchen yard. When I glanced in their direction they looked intently at me, like stray cats, then vanished.
I showed him my authority. He could read it, as could many of these artisans, for they had to understand plans and building instructions, and carve hieroglyphics. He touched the royal seal and grunted, suspicious and, although he disguised it, alarmed.
‘What does a person with written authority from the King want in a dump like this?’
‘I’m sorry to interrupt your rest but I need your help.’
‘I’m just a builder. What kind of help could I give a man like you? Or any of those performing monkeys that pass for our Lords and Masters?’
I liked his courage and his contempt. Something relaxed a little between us.
‘I’m looking for someone. A girl. A missing girl.’
He carried on eating voraciously as he spoke. ‘So why look here? No-one cares about missing girls, they’re glad to be rid of them. Shouldn’t you be down in the city?’
‘I’ve a hunch her family might be living here.’
He pushed the bread towards me. ‘Hungry?’
I took a piece and ate it slowly. I’d forgotten we’d had no food today.
‘Tell me about this missing girl,’ he said.
‘She would be a young woman. Beautiful. She would have been raised to a position in the city.’
He wiped his hands and face. ‘Not much to go on, is it?’
‘Someone would miss a girl like her.’
‘What colour are her eyes? What kind of face has she got?’
‘Her face is missing. Someone beat it off her.’
He looked at me, whistled and shook his head slowly, as if this information just proved his theory of the way of the world. Then he stood up abruptly and gestured to the door. ‘Come.’
The crowds parted swiftly along the narrow lanes to let us pass; this man was respected and feared. He was the Overseer, with the power to give and take away privileges, work and justice. He was as powerful as Akhenaten himself in this, his own domain. We came to the village’s only open area, covered by colourfully decorated linen shades that threw patterns on the hard dirt floor and the benches that ran the length of the space. Hundreds of workers from all over the Empire, from Nubia to Arzawa, from Hatti to Mittani, sat talking, yelling and even singing in their own languages. All were eating quickly, helping themselves from large bowls placed along the benches. The sentry boys at the boundary stone were missing out on all this. Women moved up and down serving thick barley beer in bowls. The noise and heat were incredible.
The Overseer stood at the head of the central bench. He knocked his staff of office on the wood three times and the place was immediately silent. All heads turned in his direction, attentive but keen to get back to the business of eating.
‘We have an important visitor,’ he announced, ‘and he wants to know if anyone’s missing a girl.’
There was a brief ripple of laughter, but it died fast when the Overseer slammed his staff down hard again. Everyone looked at me to see who was asking this question, and why. I knew I needed to speak.
‘My name’s Rahotep, Thebes Medjay. I’m investigating a mystery. No-one here’s done anything wrong, but it’s important to me to find the family of a girl who’s missing. I believe she worked in the city but that she came from among you. All I’m asking is, does anyone know of a family who might be concerned about their daughter or sister?’ The men stared at me. ‘Anything anyone wants to tell me will be confidential.’
There was a total, hostile silence. No-one moved. Then a young man at the back slowly stood up. I led him to a space on a bench away from the crowd. The Overseer left us to talk, saying, ‘I want him back at work in no time.’
We sat down opposite each other. His name was Paser. He had the hard, precise, honed physique of a skilled labourer, his hair locks white with dust, his hands already callused by the harshness of the stone that will be the most familiar thing-more than his wife’s body, more than his own children-he touches all his life. But he looked back at me with eyes that seemed intelligent; perhaps not clever, exactly, but thoughtful and independent.
‘Tell me about yourself, please.’
He looked suspicious. ‘What do you want to know? Why are you here asking questions?’
